


Next of Kin

by thewildheroine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Abuse Mentions, CHOOOOOOOOCHOOOOOOOOOOO, F/M, Female Reader, Intelligent Reader, Male Oc is a dick, Reader Insert, Slow Burn, Soft Love, Soft Sherlock Holmes, THIS IS GONNA MAKE ME SAD, but you know how it be sometimes, different POVs, if you know me, reader is a hacker/programmer, you know this ain't gonna be very happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-09 22:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16458497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewildheroine/pseuds/thewildheroine
Summary: When she was only five Y/N's father signed over his soul to the Aranea Telam, a communications company for the criminally inclined. What he didn't realize was that he was signing over her's as well. After five years of being their slave, she was able to escape the grasp of the company as well as the most dangerous man she knows. However, her life collides with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson by doing so, and she finds herself desperate to keep not only herself but the two detectives safe as well.In the hurricane that is her life she has turned into the latest client of Sherlock Holmes, and they each pray the case can be solved before it's too late.





	1. Her Tricks

**(Your POV)**

My fingers move across the key board fluidly, seeming as though they’re painting out something amazingly intricate. The bright screen purs in front of me angrily after having been turned on for the past thirty-six hours. All seven of the coffee cups surrounding me are testaments to that impressive and subtly disappointing achievement. God knows I’ve worked on this “project” for longer than a day and a half though, but me? I know I’ve been working on this case from the moment I arrived here.

A project… that’s what I told  _ him _ this is. 

It’s so much more though. Much, much more. I can’t even grasp its importance yet. All I know is that my father’s last action was giving the task to me, knowing full well they’d be taking me next. 

For the last five years I’ve been working this case. Entire weeks were devoted to it, and months were devoted to keeping people off my trail. Especially him. Him. 

My fingers come to an abrupt halt and I sneak a glance at the corner of my office where a miniature camera is hidden. I know he’s watching. He’s always watching. The weight on my finger grows heavier on my finger and I heave a broken sigh before looking back at the screen.

He thinks this project of mine is a program for the company to make communications more efficient with our clients. I nearly chuckle at the thought. This may as well be the exact opposite, at least that’s what my father lead me to believe.

His directions were clear. I had to break through his system. Hack everything he ever created here and remember it all. Every sentence, name, punctuation. And then? Then I had to burn it all down. How I would do that I was still unsure though. As I pushed through the last lines of code my hope grew though and I began to hope that I may be able to destroy this all, despite my hatred for the word.

Finally, I press the enter key and the black screen fades to white. A smile spreads over my lips in a matter of seconds and I try to contain my excitement.  _ I can’t let him figure it out now. Not when I’m so close. _

After I take a deep breath I begin scrolling through all of the information that has been stored. From the looks of it, it was only updated yesterday. Finally, I reach the more recent dates. Most of it is all stuff I already knew being the person all communications ran through, but then I reached the bottom of the page. 

I read the title under my breath, “Threats.” Swallowing I start reading all the names listed along with the reasoning. Some of which already have the haunting red word,  **EXTERMINATED** , by their pictures. Assassinations, bombings, shootings, poisoning. All ways these people were delt with. But that isn’t the most horrifying thing about the document. 

The thing that wrings my heart more than anything else is the final two images. Each of them showcasing two famous detectives based in London. One of them is alone, his thick, grey trench coat billowing behind him. He has a head full of dark curls on top of his head and strong blue eyes that stair down the street. Even in the photo he emits pure confidence and with that and his appearance combined I assume he must be in his late twenties or into his early thirties.

The other man is blond with a strong stance, however. His eyes are so soft for someone who has chosen such a dangerous career but it’s easy for me to deduce why. In his arms, he holds a toddler, no older than five, with a head of wavey blond hair and bright blue eyes. She stares up at something that must hover in the sky just above her head. Her father looks at her though and I feel like something has run straight through my heart.

After studying the images I look solemnly at the captions. Each just confirms what I was already able to figure out on my own. Then I scroll further and a gasp is drawn from my lips.

A newspaper headline has already been written for their deaths. The deaths of the two greatest detectives in London… Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Both killed in a tragic accident; a gas leak in a local cafe so it says. 

Suddenly, footsteps sound outside of my door. Shaking away the horror of the situation I quickly jab my USB drive into the computer, begin downloading the document, and minimize the tab. Only a second later a guard steps into my dimly lit office with his arms crossed behind his back, causing his chest to protrude outwards in an extremely unnatural way. I slightly cock an eyebrow and swivel my chair around to look at him.

Looking him up and down I try to decide what to say. “I don’t suppose you grabbed the espresso I asked for? I wonder. He doesn’t even react. My lips retract into a tight line as I take in his appearance. Tight black bun, half his head shaved, entirely black clothes, scar tissue on the back of his neck, most likely signifying the lives he’s taken. The guard has dark circles around his eyes and in this lighting it seems that he has smeared black eyeshadow over his eyelids. He has on rings and a simple silver chain on his neck too.. Also, if I’m not mistaken, I believe I see the edge of a tattoo peeking over his shirt collar. The devil.  _ Typical _

“So,” I hum lightly and tilt my head to the side, “should I be expecting a new My Chemical Romance album or a magic trick Chris Angel?” Now I finally see annoyance settling over his face. I grin victoriously.

“Sutro wants to see you,” he replies in a low voice, choosing not to give into my joking.

“Ah,” I nod and stand from my chair. “Let me just sign out-”

“He wants to see you now miss.” 

“Intriguing,” I turn around and open the document again, making sure the guard doesn’t have a good view of my screen. I take a silent deep breath, seeing that it has already downloaded all the way. Hurriedly, I yank the USB out and tuck it into my back pocket. Much to my luck the guard didn’t see the action, instead assuming that I had just gone to turn it off.

“Miss,” he tries again, the fatigue very clear in his voice. I smile politely.

“Yes, of course,” I apologize and start walking into the hallway. “Did you have a late night last night?” I question curiously as we stroll down the hall. Well… I stroll. The guard more stumbles across the white marble tiles.

“What?” He takes a pause for a moment, confirming my suspicions.

“Did you have a late night last night over at the club?” I repeat slower this time. “You were supposed to be at my door all of yesterday, but I never heard you. Figure you must of gone out.

“Um…” he drones nervously.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I assure. “It’s not like  _ I _ would cause any trouble in your absence. Though I would wash that number off your arm though.” He looks down at his forearm and it seems like he’s just now noticing the ten digits.

“How-”

“I mean you could always keep it,” I chuckle as we draw closer to Sutro’s suite, “but you’re not the type, are you? Not the type for a commitment right now is what I’m saying. At least that’s what I’m assuming based on the fact that horrid tiger tattoo covers up the name Jessica.” I watch happily as the man in front of my trips over his words. He goes back and forth between defending himself and asking more questions.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He finally decides on what to say. At his response I frown a bit.  _ How dull. _

“Well,” I fake a smile and open Sutro’s door, “that’s too bad.” I step into the suite but before I disappear from the guard’s sight completely I peek my head past the doorway. “Oh, and if you don’t mind, could you make an inquiry with me to your four year old nephew. I’ve been meaning to get a flower tattoo.” Finally, the guard’s eyes glow with anger at my insult. I was sort of expecting him not to understand the comment for at least a minute or two.

Before he can verbally show his anger I slam the door shut. Smirking to myself I straighten out my t-shirt and turn towards the giant living room. The glowing chandelier in the center twirls gracefully. I beam up at the glittering crystals. My old vans occasionally squeak on the floor, most likely announcing my arrival.

I gasp as two hands slide onto my hips from behind me. Almost immediately Alexander’s lips are on the left side of my neck. His breath is hot and his fingers firm. I press my lips together and clench my jaw, knowing by now that it is best to just endure his little ritual.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers into my skin. I want so desperately to cringe and drop onto the ground in a pile. Instead, I laugh as genuinely as possible and turn towards him.

“I’m only two doors down the hall,” I chuckle.

“But I hate to interrupt,” he informs and presses another hard kiss onto my collar bone. His messy blond hair tickles the side of my neck. “The work you do is so important for us. For the company. There’s a reason I made you director of communications, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” I murmur. His fingers press into my hips just a bit hard, and I know to take that as my queue to say more. “That means so much to me, Alex.” I bite my lip. “I think- I would appreciate- love even…” I stop suddenly and cast my gaze down, fearful of how he may react to my request.

_ You have to Y/N. If you don’t, you’ll never get out. You’ll never be able to save them… Sherlock and John and the little girl. Ask for them, Y/N. _

“What is it, Y/N?” Alexander grabs both of my hands and guides me towards the couch. “Is something wrong?” I shake my head and take a seat. 

“It’s nothing. I just,” I pause for affect, purposely trying to feign fear but for a different reason now, “I think I need a new guard.” Alexander narrows his eyes and leans towards me. He props his elbows onto his knees and cocks his head. 

“Why?” he interrogates. “What happened.”

I bite my lip and shake my head. “I-I don’t want to cause any trouble, but- um- last night, while I was working he disappeared, and when he finally got back this morning he was hungover and so, so rude.” Alex places a hand against my cheek. His eyes are still narrowed but I see in them that he’s believing the act.

“He didn’t do anything else did he?” I shrink a bit when I hear his voice. I should be used to it. It is always so damn shaking though. Every time he uses it I can feel it in my spine. Rippling and angry. So angry.

“No, he just-” I drop my head to my hands and quiver slightly, “I can’t handle being alone at night, Alex. There’s so many people here and he just left and I didn’t know what to do. I feel so stupid. I couldn’t even step out of my office.”

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs softly and pulls me into his arms. I gulp silently and hug him back. “I will never let anyone hurt you.” Alex pulls away and shows me a gleaming smile. “Especially now that you’ve got that ring on your finger.” I smile back but there is a fiery rage growing inside of me. “That ring on my” finger suddenly feels like it weighs ten tons more. I’m crushed under it and everything that it means. The monstrous, beautiful diamond in the center makes me feel no better. Not when it catches the light just so that everytime I look down at it, it blinds me.

_ I didn’t have much choice though, did I.  _

I say nothing back and lean towards him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I’ll get rid of him,” he says against my lips, “and tonight you can stay in here until I can get a replacement.” I try to keep my eyes from widening at his offer.

“That's okay Alex. I would hate to be a bother. I can just go to my room.” I try to reason but Alex simply waves his hand back and forth.

“You're never a bother, Y/N,” he declares. “Anyways, I'm thinking you should start spending more time here since you're going to be my wife in less than a week." Biting my lip I nod, knowing there is no other excuse I can make.

“Thank you,” I choke out. Alex grins and presses another kiss against my lips.

“You go get your things really quick and I’ll pour some champagne for us.” Despite his command, I can only stay on the couch for a bit and recall what the news article said. I read enough though.

**_At 9:30 yesterday morning a devastating explosion ripped through an entire cafe on Baker Street. Authorities have confirmed that the explosion was due to a severe gas leak. There have been seven confirmed deaths, including London’s own beloved detectives Sherlock Holmes and John Watson._ **

Just remembering it makes me feel disgusted. How? How could someone be willing to write that? I try to push away the questions but they keep coming faster than I can keep up. How many "threats" have been murdered? How many unnecessary casualties? How many lives ruined? How many secrets have been kept from me?

Finally, I stand from my spot and move towards the exit. It’s nearly one in the afternoon already. If I want to get out of here, if I want to save them I’m going to need another way out. I hoped and prayed Alexander would just tell me to stay in my own room for the night. Of course he wouldn’t though. I should’ve known better.

Making my way down the hall and back to my office, I take quick glimpses of each camera as I pass by. If I were to disappear in the middle of the night no one would notice or care for a matter of fact. Only a few people know I’m not permitted to leave the premices. All of the sudden I stop in the hallway. I rub both of my eyes and look up at the paneled ceiling. 

_ Idiot. They’re all here at night. All of them. Anyone who knows to stop you will. You won’t make it past the front door. _

I shake my head and gulp. I’ve been thinking of as many ways as possible to leave this place. To escape. Tricking Alex into leaving me alone was the best I was able to think of, all the other plans being to risky. 

As I enter my office I bite my lip, realizing I don’t have much else of a choice. I step in front of my desk and look down at the drawer. Despite knowing that this is my last chance I can barely even touch the knob let alone open it. After a minute I finally do it though. Immediately I’m faced with a sweatshirt I keep stored here just in case it gets cold along with a small washcloth and a clear bottle. Swallowing hard I reach out for the items, grabbing all of them at the same time so the camera can’t see the bottle. 

I doubt Alex would realize what it was though, and even if he did, he wouldn’t believe it. 

Turning away from the camera I carefully open the bottle and pour some of the contencts onto the washcloth. The ether-like smell attacks my senses right away. I force back a cough and screw the cap back on. Closing my eyes I open the door, ensuring that the chloroform washcloth is tucked beneath where no one can see it.


	2. The Runaway

**(Your POV)**

I moved as calmly as possible towards the kitchen. As soon as I could I studied what Alex was doing. Two glasses of champagne were standing on the island next to him just like he promised, but then I saw his laptop as well. I forced the air into my lungs, preparing myself for one of the most inopportune lectures I’ll ever receive.

“What are looking at?” I wonder whilst faking a smile. Alexander looks up from the computer to glare at me, clearly displeased. I gulp and set my things down on a nearby stool, making sure that the washcloth is still hidden. Silently, he turns the Macbook towards me so that I can see the guard and I walking down the hall.

“What’s wrong?” I ask innocently. Alex purses his lips and shakes his head.

“You antagonized him,” he claims. I raise my hands defensively and bow my head.

“I did no such thing.”

“You clearly pointed out his tattoo.” A grimace covers the entirety of Alex’s face, but I only smirk.

“If he didn’t want me to point it out he shouldn’t have made such a horrible life decision,” I defend. “Anyways, you like it when I make deductions.”

Alexander chuckles, agreeing with my comment by saying nothing, and turns the computer back towards him. “You can’t keep doing this.” I arch an eyebrow.

“Doing what?”

“Insulting people!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. “I get it. You want me to get you a new guard. He screwed up going out when he should’ve been taking care of you-”

“Cool glad we agree,” I reply nonchalantly. I turn around and reach towards my hoodie to readjust it over the washcloth. Before I can Alex grabs my hand though, pulling my eyes back to him.

“But,” he continues, “you can’t just attack people like that. He didn’t deserve it.” I pull back from Alexander a bit, though he still maintains his tight grip on my wrist. The pressure is almost enough to make me wince.

“He didn’t deserve it?” I scoff. “He came back to guard my office at noon smelling of ecstasy and alcohol. You hire these people to protect me. When your dad was still here he hired them to protect me. Even when they’re not completely incompetent at their jobs, they’re pieces of shit who don’t show me any respect!” I shout. I want to keep yelling, to leave this as a sort of goodbye to Alex. This entire hell hole as a matter of fact, but before I can he winds a hand around my waist and crashes his lips into mine. My body goes still against his, unable to move even the slightest inch.                                                             

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Alex separates from me. “I’m sorry,” he whispers to me softly. Furrowing my brows I take a step back, trying to distance myself from him as much as possible.

Shaking my head I murmur, “That doesn’t fix anything.” Alexander narrows his eyes at me. When he steps forward I step back, not wanting to be near him again.

“What do you mean?”

“Dear god,” I growl. “I mean a kiss doesn’t make it all better. What would make it better was if someone showed me an ounce of respect, if I could leave, or talk to my old friends, or walk around without a guard.”

“We have those rules to protect you, Y/N,” Alexander explains.

“Like the contracts?” I hiss.

“Yes,” Alex informs, “exactly like the contracts.” I run my hands through my hair and groan angrily.

“Those aren’t there to protect me, Alex!” I scream. “They’re there to control me, and I’m done being controlled!” I try to reach towards the washcloth soaked in chemicals again. Just like before, Alexander intercepts my hand and forces mine against his chest. I hiss as he connects our lips in a bruising kiss and I can feel it; all the anger, and desperation, and need in his actions. It makes my skin crawl uncontrollably.

As he pushes me against the island I see my chance. Reaching back slowly I place my hand on the damp rag, willing myself to work up enough courage to finish this. When it began in the first place I’m still so unsure of. Every day when he does this I look back at when my father first started working with Mr. Sutro, when he signed the contract and moved from America to London, when he died, when I was stolen from my school during lunch. I remember all the crying, kicking, screaming, and scratching I did while they dragged me into this mess.

And I remember his. Alexander Sutro- the only friend I had after my “relocation”. He was so bright then. So good and kind. I remember his gentle touches, his laugh. It’s almost enough to keep me from grabbing the chloroform cloth.  _ Almost _ .

But Alexander leans breaks away from my lips only for a moment to growl, “You can’t ever leave me.” I coil my fingers into the cool fabric. “I can’t let you leave me.” Before he can slam his mouth into mine again I slip the cloth between both of our faces, stepping backward before so I don’t fall unconscious as well.

Right away, I’m forced to stare into his eyes that shift from anger to fear and back again. I can’t risk faltering now. Not now. Not when I’m this close. Sucking in a short, deep breath I push my hand against his face even more and put a hand against the back of his hand. Alex tries fighting back for a moment, but I can tell he’s moments away from passing out.

Suddenly, his foot slams against my ankle, knocking me off balance and making me fall backward. My head hits the marble tiles hard but thankfully I remain conscious. My sight blurs though, and I can barely see Alex who has gone limp on the ground. Wincing, I push myself up and crawl towards him. Hands shaking, I press my hand against his neck to check his pulse. It’s still there. Faint but alive. 

I crouch over Alex as I try to push away the waking headache. It’s obvious that I have a concussion. After a fall like that, it’s no surprise, but I can’t allow it to get in my way. I don’t know how long I have until someone comes here to find Alex unconscious on the ground, but I do know something more important than that…. I can’t be anywhere close to this building when he is found.

Standing up I feel like knives are being shoved through my skull. All of the sudden the lights are too bright and the sound my shoes make when they hit the marble is too loud. Everything is suddenly overwhelming and it takes all my energy to keep from collapsing due to the pain.

I move though. Each step is small enough so my brain has a chance of catching up. Stumbling into the spare bedroom I look around for any clothes of mine that Alexander has kept here. Finally, I see the black jean jacket hung up on the walk-in closet door. I hasten to grab it and eye a pair of jeans that I had to have ended up here weeks ago. 

I grab both items and quickly change out of my clothes, discarding the ones I’ve been wearing for the past thirty-six hours in a trash can. Right before I’m about to walk out I see Alex’s wallet and keys, which he has left on the night table. I race towards it quickly and peek at what it contains. For someone who owns five credit cards, he has a very shocking stack of cash. Shoving the bills and keys into my pockets I step out of his bedroom.

As I’m pulling on my hoodie and the jean jacket I can’t help but gaze at Alex. Even when he’s sleeping I can feel the anger radiating off of him like some sort of viral disease. I can feel it in my skin and my spine and my brain. This memory has already started burning itself into the back of my mind and I’m positive that it will never go away. It is a deep scar now. One that will not fade.

I tug up my hood and turn away from Alex, afraid of what will happen if I look too long. Looking away I pull out my phone and look at it solemnly. A gift from the company so I can stay in contact at all times.  _ More so that they can keep track of you at all times. _

I shrug to myself and toss it up into the air. It arcs just as I say, “Well.” I look back at him, only this time something inside of me has shifted. I don’t feel so scared or weak as I usually do in his presence. I don’t feel guilty for the man who I see on the ground. In fact, I feel so free.  _ The man who can’t be stopped.  _ I smirk as the phone passes right past my eyes. “So much for never letting me leave.” 

The phone collides against the floor right in front of my feet. I can hear the sound of glass shattering and the noise is liberating. The air in my lungs flows freely and I turn away from Alex, not stopping as I pull the diamond ring on my finger and toss it behind me. It clatters as I shove open the door and step into the hall. 

People stand around, aimlessly talking to each other, but not one person even bothers sparing me a second glance. The smirk on my lips grows conspicuous and I have to cover it with one of my hands. 

My body feels uncharacteristically light. Although I know it is probably only for a moment, what with the USB drive still very present in my pocket, I revel in the feeling of being able to walk these gleaming halls without a pair of eyes looking over my shoulder whenever possible. 

Before I know it I’m stepping into the wide, extravagant lobby. The walls have been repainted from the last time I was here. Originally, they were a soft beige. Now they have turned into a deep blood.  _ How fitting. _

The faint sound of pattering rain fills my ears abruptly and I feel my heart leap.  _ Rain.  _ I close my eyes and try my best to remember how it feels. I know none of the memories capture the true feeling, but I wrap myself up in them, closing my eyes in the process.

I open the double doors numbly, still too caught up in the rain to pay attention to anything else. I’m automatically greeted with a smell indescribably sweet. When the first drop hits my skin I feel myself melt. I remember the last time I felt a raindrop on my skin. It was the day they “hired” me after my father's death. They pulled me from my lunch table. I remember forgoing all my dignity so that I may escape them, knowing the hell they put my father through. I remember screaming until my throat was raw and I could taste metallic with every breath I took. I remember the rain too though. The subtle comfort it brought.

Before I know it my hair and clothes are soaked and the cold is caressing my skin. I breathe a deep, peaceful sigh. 

I click the car keys in my jacket pocket and wait for the beep that must come after. An orange glow appears at the end of the lot and I start rushing over to Alex’s car. I throw open the door and slide in, coating the driver’s seat in water. The moment I click the engine button the entire vehicle buzzes to life. Heat flushes against my face and the speakers turn on on their own, blaring a song I’ve listened to over a hundred times.

The smile on my face only has a moment of life before a siren within the company building starts screeching. Hurriedly, I put on my seat belt and put the car in reverse, swinging out of the parking space. Without a second thought, I speed away from the skyscraper only looking in the mirror once to look at the sign glowing on the top: Aranea Telam… 

The Spider Web.

* * *

Achingly, I open my eyes. A golden light glows above me, bringing my headache back to life. Wincing, I try to turn over onto my back only for my head to hit something hard. Groaning I attempt to push myself up. Again, my head hits something and I try to balance myself. Suddenly, a horrible screeching noise disturbs the silence.

“Jesus Christ,” I groan whilst covering ears. Once the high pitch noise fades I can finally focus on where I am. Blankly, I look all around the sleek car I’m seated in. A couple hundred yards away is a road. A few light posts line the asphalt, causing the raindrops on the car windows to look like hardened amber. 

Sighing, I rub at my eyes and adjust my body so that I’m sitting properly in the driver seat. Headlights pass over my face. In the distance, I can hear a siren whaling and a few crickets chirp a calming melody. I lightly press the engine button, making sure that only the radio turn on. My fingers slowly turn the nob to change the station. Finally, I hear the voice of a news anchor continuing.

“-taken from the office building where she worked alongside her fiance, Alexander Sutro.” My jaw drops and I fearfully turn up the radio. “A disguised attacker, assumed to be male, broke into the master suite where the two were celebrating and knocked the two of them unconscious. Y/N Y/L/N was wearing a grey t-shirt and black leggings during the time of the kidnapping. She has y/e/c eyes and y/h/l, y/h/c hair. The kidnapper stole a dark blue 2019 Audi A6. The police have released no other information at this time, but they have asked that if you have seen or heard anything please contact-”

I mute the radio before she can finish. For a moment I can only sit completely still and silent as I stare out at the glistening black streets.  _ Alex has to be desperate to get the police to help find me. _ I drop my head against the wheel suddenly, realizing just how stupid it was to steal this car out of all the ones in the lot.  _ No one knows what I’m wearing though. He must not have realized I changed before I left. _

Sitting back up I tilt my head side to side to crack my neck. After the pop, I straighten myself out and buckle back in. It takes a moment for me to shake away the weariness. One glance at the clock tells me it’s already eight and that I’m losing time. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are losing time. Determined, I speed back onto the road, praying that I’m heading somewhere where I can discard the car subtly.

* * *

 

I walk down the mall hallway as someone comes over the loudspeakers, telling everyone that shops will be closing at in one hour. Meanwhile, I’m still trying to get used to all the bustling people. It’s been years since I’ve been to the mall. To be exact, I was only sixteen, joining my best friend so she could find a proper homecoming dress. Throughout the years I had forgotten that things could be so lively.

Thankfully, I find the Apple store before things have the chance to get too overwhelming. I can’t afford to lose my nerve now, especially over something as simple as people talking. As soon as I step in I immediately target which computer to use. Before I had even arrived I decided I needed something to keep track of the document to see if any important updates had been made to the headline.

Calmly, I make my way over to the black laptop and subtly plug in the USB. It only takes a second for the system to take over. The first document to show up is the one mentioning the threats of course, but I note how there seems to be more data being downloaded. Pushing the thought out of my mind I quickly scroll down the faux newspapers to make sure nothing has changed. I read over the information two times, double checking that everything is the same.

Once I’m done I breathe a sigh of relief.  _ I still have plenty of time.  _ Hurriedly, I unplug the USB before any more information can show up on the computer. As I’m working to remove what did show up a finger taps on my shoulder. I jump up at the sudden touch. When I turn around I half expect to see Alex, shit eating grin on his face as he drags me back to hell. Instead, I’m faced with some random teenager who is peeking at the computer I was working on.

“What?” I question suddenly, the edge in my voice suddenly apparent. The boy cocks an eyebrow and looks up at me.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that,” he replies while looking at the screen again. Narrowing my eyes I start taking in his appearance. Red eyes, shakey hands, constricted pupils, raw nose from rubbing it too often, and a small needle mark on his upper forearm. Not to mention the fact he’s wearing an Apple shirt, meaning that he works here. Raising an eyebrow back at him and tilt my head.

“And I don’t think you’re allowed to shoot heroin at work, but here we are.” Offering a false smile I turn back to my work.

“Woah,” he murmurs. “You’re like him, aren’t you? The detective? Er- what’s his name?” At that, I can’t help but feel intrigued.

“You mean Sherlock Holmes?” I wonder back. The teen jumps up abruptly and I automatically reach out to make sure he doesn’t topple over.

“Yeah!” he exclaims. “That's the one! You know, I saw him once. He came in here to solve some sort of murder case. He could read my friend like a damn book.”

“Hmm,” I hum quietly and look at the laptop again. “Fascinating.”

“I know right!” The boy invites himself to stand right next to me. I sigh and don’t bother trying to cover the document. “He’s bloody brilliant. If you can do that thing he can do-dictate-”

“Deduce,” I grumble.

“-you’ve gotta be damn smart too.”

“Thanks.” A thought quickly passes through my head and I turn towards the kid, who is studying me closely. “Hey, since you know so much about this mister Holmes do you think you could tell me where he lives?” The teen scoffs.

“You don’t know,” he chuckles. “You’ve gotta be living under a damn rock not to know where he lives.” I grin a bit and shrug.

“I guess you could call it that.”

“What?” the kid questions suddenly. I bite the inside of my lip.

“Nothing.” Finally finishing taking the data off the computer I give the boy my full attention. “So you mind telling me where he lives?”

“Oh yeah,” he shakes his head. “221B Baker Street down in London. How come you’re askin’? Got a case for him.”

“Actually,” I begin, staring down at the slim USB I hold in my palm, “I think I do.” Biting the inside of my cheek I flip it over in my hand. I need more time. More time to read over all the information my father saved for me. “I don’t suppose you could help me find a phone and computer, could you? Something good for someone who's been living under a rock?”

* * *

I stand in the department store, not knowing where to start. I have on a brand new backpack which holds my jean jacket as well as the computer and phone I just bought. I was nearly set until I saw that the news on me changed. Earlier I was ecstatic that Alex messed up what I was wearing, but he must’ve realized what clothes I took with me when I left. My paranoia was growing by the second, and the fear that someone may see me and call the cops grew too unbearable not to be dealt with.

So now I was in some random department store, looking dumbstruck as I stared at all the racks of clothes. Slowly I stepped towards the women's’ section. Most of the clothes weren’t quite my taste, all of them being far too professional, and believably enough professional is not a look I’m looking for while I’m on the run. 

I’m nearly ready to give up when my eyes land on a long, dark green trench coat that’s hanging up over in the clearance section. It takes me mere seconds to walk over to it. My eyes study every inch of the material. It was hard for me to not hide my excitement. Five years I’ve been wearing monotone colors: blacks, whites, greys. The thought of wearing something so colorful again makes me smile uncontrollably.

When I was younger I was never one to be fascinated by clothes. I wasn’t materialistic. The only thing I held dear was the idea of my father coming home to America, to me, for one month out of the year. It’s hard not to feel stupid as I carefully pull the jacket off its hanger. It feels so special in my hands. 

Slowly, almost hesitantly, I slip off my bag and place it on the ground between my feet and look into the mirror opposite to me as I pull on the green trench coat. The moment it's on I fall in love. The fleece on the inside makes me warmer than my ancient sweatshirt ever has. It fits me perfectly, the bottom hem touching my ankles and the arms almost able to go past my thumb. I feel the need to pop up the collar but refrain, instead choosing to giggle to myself quietly. 

I’m reluctant as I pull it back off and take a look at the price tag. Under my breath, I recall the money I had left. It should be enough for the jacket and the cab fare. Probably more than enough now that I think about it. 

Deciding the green trench coat will be a good choice I hold it close to my chest, pick my bag up, and start walking towards the counter. The salesperson works quickly, obviously upset to be working such a late shift for what I assume is the fourth day this week. Once she’s done I offer a sincere smell and make my way to the exit. I place my hands on the handle, fully prepared to leave. 

I see his eyes beyond the glass though, and I retract my hand as though I’ve just touched hot metal. No air enters my lungs as I stare forward, entirely mortified.

I’m prepared to speak up when the illusion is suddenly broken up by two girls entering. They stare up at me as they pass, blatantly confused, but I can only look at where I just saw Alexander moments ago. Sucking in a sharp breath I push the door open and look around, still terrified that he may be hiding just beyond my sight. I take the final step into the cold air though, and he is still not there.

I gulp and quickly walk down the parking lot and towards where I parked the car. Once I reach it I haphazardly throw my bags inside and grab my phone. Locking the car I take a moment to take five minutes to slow my breathing. My lungs and head ache. It feels like hot knives cut through each individual nerve in my body, each vein, and each cell. Soon I’m panting, unsure of what is happening. My hand begins pounding and tears are dropping from my eyes. 

Before I know it a full three hours have passed until I’m finally ready to drive. The adrenaline has subsided and I swallow down the lump that had grown in my throat

Turning the engine on, I pull out my phone and type in the simple address. I don’t even bother looking at the time it will take me to get to the flat. I just listen as the robotic voice begins reading me the directions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MMMMM we love(hate) time jumps. :)))


	3. The Green Blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds himself face to face with an enigma itself, and he can't help but find himself growing ever more curious.

**(Sherlock’s POV)**

I tap my foot on the rough gravel, doing what I can to stay entertained while Lestrade tries explaining the case. By now I usually would’ve interrupted Lestrade either to explain the obvious or annoy him. MY focus has moved entirely to my phone though. My eyes dart over the brand new articles that all describe new cases that have been popping up all over the UK. The most reoccurring is the kidnapping of Y/N Y/L/N, who is to be married to a young business owner in Hull. 

Disappeared from the top floor suite without a trace. Cameras shut down, no witnesses, Mr. Sutro was knocked out with chloroform and woke up suffering from a concussion. 

I smirk to myself and shake my head. If Alexander Sutro woke with a concussion that means there was a struggle between him and the kidnapper. A kidnapper who had to have been quick enough and strong enough to knock the CEO unconscious as well as the wife before either of them had a chance to get help. Not only that but Mr. Sutro must’ve fallen after passing out, causing his concussion. 

Whoever used the chloroform wasn’t able to keep Alexander from falling, but they were able to track down his keys and wallet in a timely fashion. They were able to walk right out of the building with Miss Y/L/N. The kidnapper who committed the crime knew the building well.

_ No. Not a kidnapper. Just an escapist. _

“Sherlock!” Lestrade shouts suddenly. I calmly stare up from my phone and at the detective who glares at me expectantly. When I look to the right John is shaking his head, scoffing to himself.

“Well,” I drone, bored, “what is it?” 

“The case, Sherlock,” he growls. “The bloody murder.” I huff and turn on my phone again. 

“Yes... the murder,” I reply and hand the phone to John who cocks an eyebrow curiously before taking it. “I’ll email you my deductions later.”

“What? Why not just tell me now?” 

“Because there are more important things to talk about, Greg.” I tug my coat collar up around my neck and smile. “Good morning.” With that, I turn away and begin strolling towards the main road. John follows behind, taking a second to catch up.

“This is that missing girl, Y/N,” he remarks. “She’s been all over the news. Kidnapped apparently. Why are you so interested in it?” Smirking, I take my phone back and toss it carelessly into the air. When I catch it again I’m met with the image of Y/N Y/L/N in a blood red ball gown that crashed violently against the marble floors. She hangs on the arm of Mr. Sutro. Despite the smile on her face Y/N’s eyes seem entirely vacant. 

“She wasn’t kidnapped,” I declare.  John’s eyes bore into the side of my face. I remain silent though, instead hailing a cab. 

“How could you possibly know that?” he asks as one pulls up right in front of us.

“Does a cup of coffee sound good?” I slide into the cab while John stands aimlessly outside. Rolling my eyes and leaning forward just a bit I say, “A woman disappears from the top suite of a company building, filled with people after her fiance went through a clear struggle. There is only one person who could’ve gotten Miss Y/L/N out of there.” 

Finally, realization dawns over John’s face and I smile smugly. “Herself,” she finishes.

“A runaway,” I confirm excitedly. “Now the only question is why.” John quickly enters and tells the cabbie the cafe address as I begin ranting. “She was to marry a man who runs one of the most influential communications companies in the UK. They were weeks from the wedding.”

“Cold feet?” John suggests. I shake my head and laugh.

“Do women usually knock out their fiances with chloroform when they have cold feet?” I chuckle again and look at the picture of her again.  _ A dead woman’s eyes.  _ “No,” I mumble. “Y/N fought to get out of there. She stole his car and money. She’s running from something; whether that’s Mr. Sutro, the business, or something more, we don’t know.” I take one more look at her photo then turn my gaze towards the car window. “We have to find her though.”

“Find her?” John questions. “How are we supposed to do that?”

“I’ll contact some friends.”

“You mean your homeless network?” he guesses. I nod thoughtlessly.

“Of course I mean my homeless network. Who else would I be talking about?” 

“I don’t know,” John grumbles. “I was thinking it may be a good idea to get Mycroft’s help, seeing he’s got eyes on everyone.” 

“Maybe.” I twist to look at John, allowing my eyes to catch on the clock for a moment to catch the time; 9:30. Still early enough for breakfast. “It may be too domestic for him.” John frowns. 

“And it’s not for you?”

“What do you mean?” I wonder.

“I mean it’s not like you to go scrolling through your phone and pick a case that could just have to do with a relationship problem,” John tells me. I furrow my brows.

“I take plenty of cases like that.”

“No,” John raises a finger at me, “no you don’t. You think they’re boring. So why are you picking this one?” 

Shrugging I say, “Just a hunch.”

“A hunch?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve decided to track down some random girl because of a hunch?” I nod slowly, not understanding how he hasn’t gotten it yet.

“I’ve told you that intuition is simply the brain processing information too fast for one to comprehend.” I unbuckle my seat belt as we come to a stop in front of the cafe and hand the fare to our cabbie. He mutters a quick, "Good morning," as we step out into the cool air. The city has come alive while we were on the case. Noise rages in and out of my head, going in an eternal loop.

Without a word, both John and I head towards the coffee shop. Suddenly he stops though, pulling his phone out of his pocket and reading the caller ID. I catch the name Molly and sigh.

“I have to take this really quick,” he tells me. “It’s probably about Rosie.” I nod patiently and John steps away and down the street. Watching as he focuses entirely on the call, I pull out my own phone and pull up the picture of Y/N again. There’s something that surrounds her in the image. Something heavy and onerous. The bags under her eyes are deep even with the makeup she has on, telling me that whoever did it is horrible at their job, or that she has some sort of chronic sleeping disorder. I decide it’s the ladder.

Abruptly, the sound of feet falling rapidly fills my ears. I narrow my eyes and start to turn around only see a blur of dark green and wild y/h/c hair as someone, a woman, crashes into me. Just as we fall a loud boom and heat ripples through the air next to us. We’re thrown in the opposite direction, the woman still clinging to me as we fly through the air. 

Luckily, we roll when we land, and I instinctively wrap around my arms around her as well. Coming to a stop, I take the break to cough the smoke out of my lungs. The grey veil lingers around me, but the weight against my chest is still very much apparent. As the dust clears I’m met with striking y/e/c eyes that peer through the thick cloud and at me. She groans, having probably gotten hurt and pushes herself off of me. 

Her head falls into her hands and I can see a deep red flowing past her fingertips. I push myself up as well, only I do so to get a better look at her. 

All of the sudden, a gust of wind blows past, breaking apart the smoke only for a moment so I can see her fully. She takes her head out of her hands and immediately makes eye contact with me again. We stare at each other for a moment, at a complete loss of words. It takes me a moment to recognize the face of Y/N Y/L/N. Down the street I can hear John call my name, letting me know he’s okay, but I can’t utter a word, too afraid that if I do she’ll run away like a startled deer.

The sound of sirens sound in the distance though, and she immediately goes to get up. I react quickly and grab her wrist, pulling her back towards me. Y/N yelps as she falls forwards, her hand landing on top of my shoulder and her nose ending up a few inches from mine. The sun, still low on the horizon, strikes her eyes as she stands in front of me, making her irises light up. We both hold our breath for a moment until she looks up. 

Instead of the sun, the reflection of flashing red and blue lights appear over her eyes. Y/N pleadingly gazes down at me and whispers, “Please, I need to go before they find me.” I cock an eyebrow and loosen my hand enough for her to slip away. She keeps her eyes on mine as she backs away. Y/N’s fingers brush over my palm softly.

“What are you running from?” I ask under my breath. She smiles kindly.

“Everyone.” Y/N straightens her posture and fades further into the smoke surrounding us. “Everyone but you… I think.” We both hear the sound of a car door shutting and I see the fear flash over her eyes. She looks down at me, desperate and frightened as the smoke starts enveloping her. “I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes.” And then she disappears in a plume of billowing smoke.

* * *

I stand in front of the entrance of the destroyed cafe. Five people dead. Two women and three men. John is inside the flat comforting Miss Hudson who was luckily in the further end of 221A. For the second time today someone has put a neon orange shock blanket on my shoulders, but this time I don’t even bother shrugging it off.

I’m far too distracted by her to care. Y/N Y/L/N. Daughter to Benjamin Y/L/N, co-founder of Aranea Telam and the genius behind the whole communications program. From what I read he wrote every single line of code for the company, spending years to do so. Y/N was raised in America, explaining that accent of her’s when she spoke to me. Both parents died when she was only sixteen. Upon their deaths Haiden Sutro had her move to England to live with him and his family. On every article I’ve read in the past two hours there is no mention of other relatives Y/N might have.

“You are one lucky bastard,” Greg’s voice breaks through my thoughts and I turn towards him slowly, my eyes lingering on the cafe.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“John said he saw you standing right at the entrance when he was talking on the phone,” he explains. “Bomb goes off and you’re thrown to the side, getting up without any serious injuries.”

“Hmm,” I hum to myself. “Maybe luck might be part of it.” Lestrade laughs, crosses his arms and turns towards me, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “and what might the other part be.” Y/e/c eyes flash over my vision along with a blur of forest green. A desperate voice rings in my ears. A fearful please, a solemn sorry, and finally the smoke takes over and she’s gone. 

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “An enigma, I suppose.” Greg looks up at me, confused but I don’t speak again. Instead, I pull off the orange blanket and hand it to him. “I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow.”

“But-”

“Tomorrow,” I interrupt Lestrade quickly and head into my flat. The moment I enter John is rushing down the stairs. I step out of the way so that he doesn’t run into me.

“I have to go,” he grumbles, angry about something.

“Rosie get in trouble?” I inquire as John pulls his jacket back on. He shakes his head and I decide to not make any more comments.

“She’s been having a day.” I nod quietly.

“Sorry for keeping you from her,” I apologize while hanging my own jacket up. John offers me a small grin.

“It’s fine,” he reassures. “If the meeting with her teacher isn’t too long I’ll try to come back tonight.” I lift one hand in disagreement.

“No,” I reply. “You should stay with Rosie for the day. There isn’t much we need to do anyway.” John cocks an eyebrow curiously, letting his hand hover over the door handle. 

“What about the case on Y/N?” he wonders, already suspicious.

“I’ve got my homeless network on it.” I shrug indifferently. “Now we just need to wait for her to come out of the shadows.” John presses his lips together so that they make a thin line before nodding once.

“Alright,” he responds, unsure, “but you contact me if you find out about anything.”

“Of course.” I smile. John takes another peek at me, trying to comprehend what’s going on in my head, but he gives up and opens the door, leaving without another word. My grin falls as soon as the entrance slams shut and I turn to go up the stairs. My fingers trace the wood grains in the railing as I step up to my flat. John left the door ajar in his rush, and even when I step through I don’t bother closing it.

Walking over to the window, I grab my violin and its bow. I rest the end pin on top of my shoulder and begin playing, not thinking about the actual instrument as I do so. I think of y/e/c, y/h/c, and dark, stunning forest green disappearing into a cloud of black smoke instead. I think of Y/N’s voice. Lilting, with that natural cadence. She’s lodged herself in my mind; the enigma.

I don’t notice the sun has dropped onto the horizon until I hair footsteps on the stairs. My playing persists though. I just listen closer. She isn’t even bothering to quiet the sound of her approaching. Finally, the soft thumping ends and so does the song I was playing. I drop my arms so the instrument rests against my leg and turn my head towards the mirror above my couch. I can see her in it. 

Y/N has pulled her hair into a ponytail in an attempt to control the strands. I can see the faint remnants of the cut she received during the bombing on the left side of her head. Her lips have pulled up into a soft smile and her green trench coat has been unbuttoned, revealing the grey t-shirt underneath.

“That was beautiful,” she remarks, her voice melodic. “The song I mean. Though it’s not something I recognize.” Carefully, I set my violin down. 

“That’s because I just made it up,”  I explain in the most indifferent voice I can manage. Turning around to face Miss Y/L/N, I brush off my dress shirt. When I’m staring right at her I find that something has stolen her attention. Her eyes glance over my entire flat, pulling in as much information as possible. It takes a full minute until she realizes that I’m looking at her. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles shyly. “I’m just examining-”

“Deducing,” I say at the same time. Her eyes narrow just the slightest bit but I catch it. “Please,” I continue after a moments silence, “take a seat.” Gesturing at the “clients chair”, I wait for her to approach. She does so slowly, removing her backpack as she goes. She sets it on the floor in front of the chair as she falls into the seat, her eyes still scanning.

“So, Miss Y/L/N,” I walk around her and settle into my own chair, “what do you need me to solve?”


	4. Her Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N gives her case to Sherlock, but she can only hope he will take it, especially when it means putting his own life on the front line for her.

**(Your POV)**

I keep my eyes on Sherlock to gauge his reaction as he looks me over. Although he stays calm I can see in his eyes that something's wrong. Somehow I must be throwing him off, but I have no idea how. Everything about me seems plain as day. As apparent to Sherlock and the world as air is to the lungs. But he is unsure. That much I can tell.

“I have a computer if you’d like to see it,” I speak up finally, breaking his focus. “Of course you can keep trying to deduce me if you prefer that Mr. Holmes, but I believe you’re the type of person who likes to get to the point.” He narrows his eyes and cocks his head to the side.

“On it, I suppose there is compromising information on your fiance.” Sherlock places both hands on the armrests of his chair, doing his best to relax despite my comment on his deducing. “You uncovered it and that is why you ran?”

“Not quite,” I answer while smirking.

“Hmm,”  Mr. Holmes hums. “How long were you planning on running away from him then?” The memory of the explosion reappears before my eyes, and I recall Sherlock’s phone after we had landed, which was still opened to the picture of me at a company gala.

“I think you may just now the answer to that,” I respond, smiling as I mess with the ties on my jacket. Sherlock chuckles quietly to himself, intrigued by my comment. I can’t help but look up when I hear the noise. His eyes are still trained on me, but his lips have quirked even further up.

“You mean based on the photo?” I nod. “I’d say as soon as the proposal happened, but you weren’t even engaged to Mr. Sutro then. You were what? Friends, though, I do still doubt that. In the photo, your eyes look…” 

“Sad?” I chuckle, taking his pause as a chance to interrupt.

“Blank,” he corrects. Sherlock takes another hard glance at me before putting his hands together and placing his chin on top of his fingertips. “Like you couldn’t feel anymore. Can’t.” I furrow my brows and lean forward.  _ He used the present tense. Can’t. _

“Can’t?” I repeat, this time out loud. Again, Mr. Holmes smirks, realizing he was right about whatever his assumption was. 

“You look so, so vacant in that photograph, Miss L/N,” he continues without an explanation. I gulp down the bile in my throat. “But, even now, when you’re free, on the run but free, you look blank. May I ask why is that?” 

I have to try hard not to let my jaw drop. I had figured he was blatant and to the point, but I never thought he may like to dig around in people’s brains, pulling out things that hadn’t even realized was a reality. With him being a detective I suppose it makes sense, but for some reason, I feel whatever confidence I have washed away. Weakly, I attempt to push some sort of light into my eyes, but I don’t think it works. Even if it did, I doubt it’s convincing.

Giving up, I silently turn away and grab my backpack, digging through it as I go. Finally, I reach my computer and yank it out. Meanwhile, Sherlock lifts his head from his lithe fingers and watches curiously to see what I’m doing. Clenching my jaw, I offer him the brand new device that still has the USB attached from last night.

He pulls it from my hands slowly and starts studying the laptop. I keep my eyes on him as he takes in every ounce of information in less than a minute. 

“Brand new,” he mentions under his breath, “ Just last night it would seem. Quite nice for someone with a very limited amount of money. This model has the most storage though, meaning you have something of importance that you need to keep. Most likely something that is already on this drive. Now the drive this is a whole other story.”

“Hmm,” I murmur quietly, encouraging him to continue.

“The label has been rubbed away, showing that it is consistently in your hands. A nervous habit I assume. You need to have it on you at all times. Otherwise, you get anxious. It’s not scratched up though, which means it has an immense value to you. The only thing that would prove otherwise is the chipped piece at the top. By the way it’s shaped I can tell it used to be part of a keychain before it was ripped off violently.”

“Violently?” I question.

“Yes,” Sherlock reaffirms. “This is high quality. The chain wouldn’t be cheap quality. It wouldn’t break off for no reason. It must’ve been ripped off by force then. Now I know it wasn’t your fiance. You had to have been keeping this USB a secret for years by now. You wouldn’t just let anyone find out about it. You’re a clever girl, so it had to have had a previous owner. Now if this has important enough information on it to force you into hiding the person had to have trusted you before giving it up.” He opens the computer and begins typing something. I cock an eyebrow and stand worriedly. 

“Are you trying to guess my password?” I growl and stomp towards him.

“Here’s the fun part Y/N.” He ignores me and types the code in letter by letter. “You have no family left. That’s why Haiden Sutro took you into his home and company. Now the last person alive before that happened was your father. He gave you the USB. Makes enough sense, especially since he was head of communications like you. That’s what the article said at least.”

“And what about that makes you think you can figure out my password?” 

“What about it makes me think I can’t?” Sherlock scoffs. “Obviously the death of your father would’ve been more impactful in your life so that means that’s the password. Little obvious with your code being eight characters, don’t you think?” I can’t help but smirk as he confidently presses the entire button only for the laptop to buzz angrily.

I beam down at the words,  **INCORRECT PASSWORD** when they pop up on the screen. “Oh wow. Very impressive Holmes.” Shaking my head I yank my computer from his grasp and quickly type in my actual password. “Let’s try not to lock my laptop for the next two hours though. I’m sure we both have busy schedules we’d prefer not to be interfered with.” As soon as I’m logged in he takes it back and looks at its contents.

“Your case is our schedule now, Miss L/N.” I smile softly at him as he begins scrolling through the document. For the first time, I finally have a chance to admire Sherlock’s appearance. He's handsome, to say the least. His cheekbones are strong and high, his jaw clenches repeatedly, showing off its structure, his hair a torrent of thick, messy brown curls that seem so soft, and his eyes, ever observant, look like an entire galaxy. A nebula of greens, and blues, and yellows. They’re beautiful. Sherlock in his entirety is, in fact. How someone can manage to look so incredible while looking at disgusting, top secret information is beyond me.

“What is this?” he asks, startling me from my mind. Biting the inside of my cheek and pushing my previous thoughts into the back of my mind, I lean over the back of Sherlock’s chair. He is staring intently at the screen, the blue light softening his features. Clumsily, I reach forward and start scrolling.

“For the most part it is meeting times and such,” I begin explaining. “Nothing I didn’t already know since most of it goes through me in the first place. From what I figured it’s an agenda of sorts. A planner. Important dates are all kept on this document.” As I’m scrolling I take a glance at Sherlock, only to find he’s already staring at me.

“I doubt that that is the only reason you ran though.” 

“Obviously.” I smile lightly and turn my focus back to the document. Sherlock’s eyes are still shamelessly stuck to the side of my head. The attention makes me uncomfortable. He’s obviously still trying to deduce me. While I know that I may hide things under layers of thick skin and cold eyes I had figured if anyone could read me it would be him. It’s almost amusing, his stubbornness. Amusing and foolish.

“There are, of course, simple dates,” I mumble as I’m searching through the text, “but then there is more… dangerous intel that I thought may be of interest of you.” Holmes chuckles next to me quietly, slightly curious as to why I would be on the run just to show him a document that may as well be Alexander’s personal planner.

“And why is that?” I frown and peek at him through a few strands of hair that have fallen out of my ponytail.

“Because,” I murmur once I finally reach the faux news article that had frightened me earlier, “it gave your time of death.” Sherlock’s eyes narrow automatically and he holds the computer closer to his face, as though seeing it from a different perspective may change the contents of the article. It doesn’t change though. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson still died this morning at 9:30 a.m. in Speedy’s Cafe. At least that’s what it says.

“Organized murder,” Sherlock whispers, his voice verging on silence. 

“Threats are taken out before they have the chance to make a threat,” I comment and move back up to all those who have already been, “exterminated”. “Anyone who may have the capability to tear apart Aranea Telam is dealt with as swiftly and carefully as possible. Assassinations are made into accidents.”

“And John and I were the next victims of these,” Sherlock narrows his eyes, “accidents. That seems to explain you tackling me to the ground this morning.”

I wince at the memory. “Sorry about that,” I grumble and pick the computer up. This time I choose to sit in the chair opposite to Mr. Holmes. When I look back he’s looking me in my eyes. He doesn’t shy away when he knows that I’ve registered his staring. Sherlock just keeps looking at me, only this time I can tell he’s not so much deducing as he is observing. 

“It’s quite alright,” he informs before resting his chin on top of his hands again. Swallowing I stare down at my laptop.

“Whatever this is,” I begin, hoping to initiate some sort of conversation again, “it’s meant to keep people quiet. People like you who are smart enough to see through the facade.”

“My only question is, why don’t you know more about these files,” Sherlock replies, cocking his head to the side. “You are director of communications, aren’t you. Wouldn’t you be trusted with this?”

“Nope,” I scoff lightly and search the document again.

“May I ask why that is?”

“Because I’ve been termed as irrationally volatile to classified information by the companies council.” When I glance up again Sherlock as a small, amused smirk playing on his lips.

“A council?” he chuckles.

“You think the biggest communication network for the criminally inclined wouldn’t have a council of advisors?” I joke back, finding the idea of it funny too now, despite all the years of fearing them. “I wouldn’t trust you to run a business if my life depended on it.” Sharing one more smile with Sherlock I look down at my computer.

“And you, irrationally volatile?” he wonders out loud.

“Is that so hard to believe?” As I’m talking I eye the loading bar at the bottom of my screen. The other documents have only downloaded one percent in the past eight hours.

“Well,” out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sherlock leaning forward, “I have no reason to believe it, now do I.” Cocking an eyebrow I spare a glance at the consulting detective.

“Let's hope you never have reason, Sherlock Holmes,” I say his full name this time, curious as to how it sounds on my tongue. It’s long, that much I’m confident of. It rolls off my tongue easily and I have to keep myself from singing it. However, it is strange. Sherlock.  _ Sherlock. _

“Miss L/N,” Sherlock announces and I jolt in my seat a bit.

“Sorry,” I mumble. He presses his lips together and cocks his head to the side. 

“Why not just go to the police,” Sherlock questions after a few minutes of silence. “You have the drive. Not only that but you have your own experiences. There’s no mystery here, so why have you come here?”

“Oh,” I whisper more to myself than to Mr. Holmes. The thought had crossed my mind while I was renting a room in a motel only a few blocks away. It may have even crossed my mind before my escape, but I didn’t have time to linger on it. “It’s need to know, Mr. Holmes, and believe or not, you don’t need to know.” The detective scowls before standing abruptly from his seat and throwing open the door.

“Out,” he responds without so much as an explanation.

“Excuse me?”

“I said out.” I don’t budge from my seat. Instead, I glare back at him, silently demanding a reason. Finally, he sighs. “You seem to not only be on the run from the police but your husband and his entire company as well. If I’m putting myself directly on the front line for this case I’d like to know what I’m getting into and why I’m getting into it.”

I purse my lips, trying to tell myself to just leave. Trying to tell myself that I don’t need the infamous Sherlock Holmes.  _ I can do this on my own.  _ I know it’s not true though. They made sure I would never be able to all those years ago.

“Fine,” I growl, defeated. A pleased grin appears on Sherlock’s face and he saunters back to his seat proudly. Once he is seated I begin my story. “It was during one of the companies more important deals. One that was supposed to change everything. He was going to change everything.”

“Who’s he?” Sherlock interrogates. I swallow and keep my eyes on Holmes, knowing that if I don’t he won’t believe a word I say.

“I don’t know.”  _ Liar.  _ “They didn’t allow me to know his name.”  _ Liar.  _ “Just that he was powerful, and if we gave him what he wanted, we would be the most powerful company in the world.”

“So you complied just because of that?” 

“No-no. God no.” I suck in a deep breath and stare down at the floor, frustration and shame settling in. “I-I had a mental break. I was only eighteen. I knew all of this was wrong from the beginning. Even when my dad was working with the company, actually. But him? That man? He was terrifying. Seeing him walk into the building was like watching the devil arrive at the gates of hell. They wanted me to make a program. A program that could enhance communications between criminals all over the globe and it would all be connected to him.”

“And you refused,” Sherlock infers. I chuckle and shake my head sadly. Looking back at Sherlock I have to force myself to ignore the abrupt pricking in my eyes.

“I tried,” I answer. “When my mental breakdown happened I tried reaching out to the authorities. Alexander stepped in though and he had an idea to invalidate everything I ever did and ever will say.” Sherlock is leaning forward now, his hands intertwined on his bouncing knees. I get distracted looking at the movement for a long time and I don’t notice until the bouncing stops.

“Schizophrenia,” I blurt out quickly, the word having a bad taste in my mouth after so many years. “The ultimate way to destroy my validity. It was only on my personal records. The company kept it out of the news. I suppose it was their way of feigning embarrassment.” 

I wait for Sherlock to say anything. My mind is desperate for him to end the angry shouting, but he just remains silent, studying me for the hundredth time this evening. 

Shaking my head I choose to continue. “My father left me this drive before he died Sherlock. I can uncover all the information within. I can find the proof. But I need you to stand with me. I need you, Sherlock Holmes. To trust me, to protect me, and to be my voice, because no one else will listen to mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always comments are appreciated but not necessary. Sorry for the late update. Hopefully, I will be able to post much more during Thanksgiving break.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome on my work, constructive or not! :) I hope you guys enjoyed!!!


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